Endings are the saddest part
by abbywesten
Summary: Shawn is blindsided by his father's sudden death and struggles with the unexpected grief. Gus tries to help, but ultimately Shawn finds comfort in the most unexpected of places. Major character death.
1. Chapter 1

_Should I be working on a whole new story when I still have two unfinished on this site? Probably not, but am I going to do it anyway? Definitely. Mostly because I just discovered this finished story in a long-forgotten file. Don't even remember when I wrote it, but since I've been revisiting Psych lately I thought it was the perfect time to finally post. It's a definite departure from what we ever saw on the show, but hopefully I kept everyone mostly true to character...considering the circumstances. Major character death ahead so consider yourself warned. I envision this taking place somewhere in the first few seasons, maybe late season 2ish. Standard disclaimers apply - I don't own Psych or any of its characters, and the title of this story is pulled from a Shel Silverstein poem. I hope you enjoy. -abby_

* * *

 _God, he's going to kill me,_ Shawn thought as he pushed the Norton just a little bit faster. _I was supposed to be there an hour ago._

Shawn had fully intended to be on time for dinner at his dad's for once, he really had. _It's not my fault that playing Wii is so addictive. I forgot to check the clock! But now he's all pissed off and not answering the phone. I'm sure I'll have to listen to a lecture as soon as I walk in the door._

As he continued speeding down the road toward Henry's house, Shawn rolled his eyes. _I should just turn around and go home. I don't think he'd be any madder than he probably already is. I can beg forgiveness tomorrow._

But he didn't turn around. Something made Shawn keep going, and ten minutes later he parked in front of the familiar old house. He didn't bother to knock, just walked in the door while tossing his jacket and helmet on a nearby chair. "Dad?" At the resulting silence, Shawn rolled his eyes again and sighed dramatically. _Great, he really is pissed._ "Dad, come on. Give me a break. I'm sorry, okay? I just lost track of time, I didn't mean to be so late."

Still no response. "Dad? You here?" _His truck is in the drive, he's got to be here somewhere._ Shawn wandered into the kitchen and froze. _Oh god. No._

Henry lay sprawled on his back, terrifyingly motionless on the hard floor. Shawn crossed the room in two strides and dropped to his knees by his father's side. "Dad. Dad, can you hear me?" He reached to check for a pulse, but as soon as he touched Henry's cool skin he knew.

He knew that it was too late. That his dad was already gone.

Shawn's heart leapt into his throat. His chest tightened and he gasped for breath. _He's dead. No!_ He suddenly felt dizzy and collapsed in a heap on the linoleum, staring at his father's body in disbelief. _This can't be happening. He was fine this morning! No, this isn't real. He's not dead. He can't be. I made a mistake._ Tentatively, Shawn reached for Henry's shoulder and shook it. "Dad? Dad, come on. This isn't funny." _No. Please no. It can't be. Please don't be dead._

 _Please._

There was no response. And as much as Shawn hoped for one, begged for one, _needed_ one, he knew there was no hope. He squeezed his eyes shut in desperation. _Maybe this is a nightmare. Maybe when I open my eyes again I'll be at home in my bed._ But it was not to be, and Shawn knew. He _knew_. Finally, shaking hands dug into his pockets in search of his phone. He pulled it out and blinked fuzzily at the screen, unsure of who to call. Eventually he settled on a name.

The call was answered on the first ring. "Detective O'Hara."

Shawn paused, long enough so that Juliet repeated herself. There was the slightest trace of annoyance in her voice as she said for the second time, "This is Detective O'Hara."

"Um, J-Jules?" Shawn knew he sounded pathetic but couldn't quite bring himself to care.

As she recognized the caller, Juliet's tone immediately softened. "Shawn? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Lassiter was at his own desk nearby, and looked up quizzically at the concern in his partner's voice.

On the other end of the line, Shawn stammered weakly. "Um…it's my d-dad…I…f-found him…"

Confused, Juliet waited for Shawn to finish. When it was clear that nothing else was forthcoming, she prodded gently. "What are you talking about, Shawn? Where did you find your dad?"

"At his house," Shawn blurted out. "He died, Jules. He's dead!"

Shocked, Juliet gasped and covered her mouth. At the reaction Lassiter's curiosity level ratcheted up a notch, from mild interest to something bordering on concern.

"Oh my god, Shawn," Juliet managed to say. "We're coming - you just hang in there, okay? We're coming." She hung up and grabbed her jacket without a word to her partner, knowing he trusted her enough to follow. Without question, Lassiter grabbed his own coat and dutifully trailed the young woman as she ran down the hall.

Across town, Shawn nodded dumbly as he set down his phone. "They're coming, Dad," he said out loud, looking down at his father's lifeless body. "They're coming," he repeated softly, the words punctuated with a choking sob.

 _He's gone. I can't believe this. This isn't what was supposed to happen. Not now. Not like this. God,_ please _, not like this._

Shawn wasn't sure how long he sat there in the fading light, alone with his father's body. It seemed like forever.

In reality, less than ten minutes had passed when Juliet opened the front door without knocking. Carlton followed her inside. "Shawn?"

"I-in here," came the response.

The two detectives found the psychic curled in a corner of the kitchen, just a few feet away from where Henry's body lay.

"Oh, Shawn," Juliet rushed to her friend as Lassiter knelt beside the body, cop instincts forcing him to confirm the obvious. Henry was gone.

Shawn watched impassively as Lassiter stood and pulled out his phone. The tall detective left the room, but Shawn and Juliet could still hear him making the call for a coroner. Juliet turned to the quiet man beside her. He was clearly deep in thought, and she touched his arm gently. "I'm so sorry." She paused. "Do you have any idea what happened?"

Shawn swallowed hard. "I…I don't know. I was supposed to be here for dinner and I was late…and…and when I g-got here…" He trailed off and looked away for a moment. "I was late, Jules." _I should have been here. I was too late. I should have been here but I wasn't._

Juliet's heart almost broke from the despair in his voice. She gently brushed her fingers across Shawn's pallid cheek. "I'm so sorry," she repeated, at a loss for anything better.

Before Shawn could respond, Lassiter returned. "The coroner is on the way," he said quietly, mostly to his partner. "And I called Guster."

At his best friend's name Shawn seemed to rally a little. "Gus. Oh god, I didn't call him." He drew his knees up to his chest and rested his forehead against them, slowly rocking back and forth. "What was I thinking? I forgot to call Gus."

Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a worried glance. "You're in shock, Spencer," the head detective said, not unkindly. "Guster understands. He's on his way."

Shawn nodded, never lifting his face. "Okay," was all he could think of.

"Come on, Shawn. Let's go outside and wait for Gus," Juliet encouraged gently. She didn't want him in the room when the coroner arrived.

With a final desperate look at his father's body, Shawn allowed the young detective to guide him to his feet and out of the house. Juliet grabbed Shawn's jacket on the way, then led him to a chair on the porch. She watched as her charge obediently sat and silently accepted the jacket she wrapped around his shoulders.

Shawn didn't make a sound or move a muscle as he stared vacantly toward the beach. Juliet sighed. Shawn's reactions were normal for the circumstances, and she knew that Lassiter was right – he was in shock. But it was still unnerving to see the usually hyperactive psychic so quiet and still.

"Shawn." Slowly he pulled his gaze from the pounding surf and focused in her direction. Juliet knelt in front of her friend and held his hands in hers, noticing that they were ice cold and trembled slightly. "Do you need anything? Some water?"

He shook his head. "No," was the virtually inaudible reply. "Will Gus be here soon?"

Shawn sounded so forlorn, so bereft, that Juliet wanted to gather the psychic into her arms and comfort him as though a child. Resisting the urge, instead she just replied, "Yeah, he'll be here very soon."

As if on cue, the familiar little blue car pulled up in the driveway. Gus leapt out almost before it came to a full stop. "Shawn!" Juliet rose and wisely moved out of the way as Gus ran onto the porch and dropped to his knees in front of his best friend.

"Hey, buddy," Shawn managed a wan smile in greeting, but it quickly turned into a frown. "My dad died," he said simply. _Dad died. He's dead._ No matter how many times Shawn thought – or said – the words, they didn't seem real. Everything felt like a horrible dream, a terrible misunderstanding. _This can't be happening._

"I know. Oh my god, Shawn. I'm so sorry." Gus studied his friend carefully, searching the hazel eyes for a long moment. His heart sank at the raw misery reflected there.

A vehicle approached, and all three glanced over just in time to see the coroner's dark van arrive. Shawn whispered desperately, "I can't do this. No. It's my _dad_ , Gus."

Gus knew his friend was hurting deeply. Hell, _he_ was hurting. Henry Spencer had been like a second father to him for the last 25 years – it was unbelievable that he was gone. Just like that. Gus had never lost anyone so close to him and truly had no idea how Shawn must feel. Henry was really all Shawn had in terms of family. And for all of the fighting Gus had witnessed between Shawn and Henry over the years, he knew they loved each other fiercely - although they were both too damn stubborn to ever admit it. Now they'd never get the chance, because Henry was gone. Forever.

Overwhelmed at the realization, Gus felt his head spin and he took a deep breath. He was at a complete loss. He didn't know what to what to say or do, but needed to provide comfort however he could. "Do you want to leave, Shawn?" he offered helplessly.

Shawn seemed not to hear as he watched the coroners solemnly wheel a gurney into his father's home. _That's it. They'll take him to the morgue and perform an autopsy. He's just another body now. This is really happening. It's the end. I'll never get to talk to him again. Dad's really dead_.

Finally Shawn turned slowly to face Gus and Juliet, grief etched in his pale features. He nodded and said softly, "I want to go now. I want…" He trailed off, unsure of what he wanted. He didn't want to think, he knew that much for sure. "Do you still have those Best of Molly Ringwald DVDs at your apartment?" _God, you jerk, your dad just died and you're asking about eighties movies?_ But Shawn knew it wasn't really about the movies. He felt as though he was about to shatter, and he didn't know how to cope. _It hurts._ "I need…" Shawn faltered, and pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead as Gus spoke up.

"Absolutely, buddy. We can do that. Whatever you want." Gus didn't need an explanation. He understood completely, and was willing to do whatever he could to help his friend deal with the heartbreaking loss. He knew that eventually Shawn would need to talk, but Gus wasn't going to force. For the moment, Shawn just needed him to be there. And he would.

For her part, Juliet was torn - she wanted to hug Shawn but wasn't sure if she should, wasn't sure it was her place. He looked so fragile, as if the slightest contact would break him. She settled for gently squeezing his hand. "You call me if you need anything, okay?" She could see Shawn's hesitation and continued, quietly but firmly, "Go with Gus. It's okay, Shawn. Carlton and I will take care of your dad."

Shawn's eyes shone brightly, and he closed them just in time to keep the tears from falling. "Thanks, Jules. Tell Lassie…" Once more he seemed to lose the words, and Juliet smiled sadly as he opened red-rimmed eyes to meet hers.

"I know. I'll tell him, Shawn."

"Okay," Shawn whispered, allowing Gus to take an elbow and lead him down the steps.

"Come on, buddy. Let's go," Gus murmured reassuringly. "I've got you."

The childhood friends slowly made their way across the lawn. Juliet watched, her own eyes brimming with tears at the way Gus gently supported Shawn, an arm around the psychic's hunched shoulders as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it did.


	2. Chapter 2

They rode in silence with Shawn staring out the window at the dark city streets. Gus knew better than to push and instead he concentrated only on driving. Finally they pulled up in front of his apartment and Gus silently steered his miserable friend inside.

Shawn sat on the comfortable sofa with a heavy sigh, as Gus grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge before joining his friend. "How are you doing?" He offered a water to Shawn, who gratefully accepted. Instead of opening the bottle, however, Shawn pressed it firmly against his right temple. The cool pressure was a relief, helping to somewhat alleviate the raging headache that had developed.

"Headache?" Gus queried worriedly. Shawn wasn't prone to headaches usually, but there certainly wasn't anything normal about the situation.

"Yeah, a little. I'm okay though," Shawn lied softly. He closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillows. "What about starting with _Sixteen Candles_?"

Gus nodded. "Sure thing." He got up and put the DVD in the player, but when he turned back to the couch he found Shawn watching him. "What?"

"Why did this happen, Gus?" Shawn was quieter and more subdued than Gus had ever witnessed in over two decades of friendship.

"I don't know, Shawn. I'm sorry. I'm just so sorry." Gus sat down next to his friend, who had leaned forward to bury his face in shaking hands.

"It's not fair," came the muffled voice.

"It isn't," Gus agreed, squeezing Shawn's shoulder reassuringly. "But I'll be here, okay? You're not going through this alone. And if you want to talk..."

"I know. Thanks, buddy." Shawn sighed. He didn't want to talk. He just wanted so badly to forget about everything that had happened in the last few hours, but knew that wasn't possible. Shawn couldn't shake the guilt, the horrible feeling that if he'd been on time for dinner he could have saved his father's life. He didn't want to say those words aloud, it was as if saying them would confirm it, make it the truth. "I guess I knew this day would come eventually. But I didn't know it would hurt this bad."

Gus opened his mouth to respond but was cut off when Shawn suddenly stood and began to pace. "Mom! I need to call Mom!"

"Okay," Gus soothed. "You're right. We will. Do you have her number?" He knew that Madeleine was often difficult to reach under the best of circumstances.

Shawn turned to face his best friend and gasped as the sudden movement caused sharp pain to flare in his throbbing skull. He pressed the heels of both hands into his eyes and staggered as a wave of dizziness washed over him.

Gus quickly leapt to his feet and steadied Shawn before he fell. "Come on, sit down." He eased the exhausted man back onto the couch before grabbing his pharmaceutical sample case from the kitchen.

Shawn kept his fingers pressed into his temples as he eyed Gus warily. "What is that?" he asked suspiciously when his friend pulled out two small yellow pills.

"They'll get rid of your headache," Gus explained. _And help you sleep_ , he finished mentally. He knew there was no way Shawn was going to get any decent rest otherwise, and the look on his friend's face told him that Shawn was dangerously close to collapse.

Shawn wasn't fooled. "They're sleeping pills, aren't they?" he demanded, but there was no heat behind the words.

"No," Gus replied honestly. "They're painkillers."

"But…?" Shawn prompted.

"One of the side effects is marked drowsiness," Gus admitted with a sigh. "Take them, Shawn. They'll get rid of your headache and you need to get some sleep anyway."

"I don't want to sleep," Shawn admitted softly. He knew that his dreams would unavoidably be haunted by images of his father's lifeless body, sprawled across the kitchen floor.

"Okay," Gus relented. " _Sixteen Candles_ , then?" At Shawn's weak nod, he set down the pills and reached for the remote.


	3. Chapter 3

Shawn awoke with a start, momentarily confused as to his surroundings. It didn't take long for him to realize that he was on the couch at Gus' apartment, the same place he'd awakened for the past few mornings.

His cell phone was ringing, and Shawn wearily reached over to answer. "Hello?"

"Mr. Spencer, this is Edward Malloy," the voice began. Shawn groaned inwardly. Malloy was the funeral director in charge of his father's services, and Shawn had spoken to the man far more in two days than he'd ever thought could be necessary. Each conversation had been a brutal reminder of the circumstances, another painful jab to Shawn's fragile psyche.

"Yes, Mr. Malloy," Shawn fought to keep his voice steady. "What can I do for you? I thought we'd taken care of everything already."

"Almost," Malloy said patiently. There was a note of sympathy in his deep voice as he gently reminded, "You never decided on the wording."

Shawn squeezed his eyes shut. _Dammit. Dammit all to hell, I hate this._ "Okay," he responded softly. "I'll try and stop by later this morning." _Even though I really don't want to._

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing you, Mr. Spencer," Malloy replied politely.

"Yeah," Shawn said as he hung up and dropped his face into his hands. _And stop calling me 'Mr. Spencer'. That's Dad's name._ Was _Dad's name,_ he corrected himself miserably.

Gus appeared in the doorway, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Morning, Shawn. Who was that?"

"Malloy. Again. He's asking about the headstone. I...forgot to tell him what I want it to say."

Gus raised an eyebrow. "Forgot?"

Shawn snorted. "Okay, fine. Picking wording for Dad's headstone just seems so...final. The rest of it…I could deal with that somehow." He chuckled dryly. "Especially since Dad had most of it prearranged for some morbid reason." _I guess I should be glad that he was so anal about future plans and crap like that. God only knows how much I'd be talking to Malloy if Dad hadn't done it himself._ "But the words…I can't…I just can't. I don't even know what it should say. It shouldn't be this hard." He rubbed his temples in an attempt to massage away the ever-present headache. "It's stupid."

As he had so many times in the preceding days, Gus sat down beside his friend and squeezed his shoulder gently. "It's not stupid, Shawn. Your father died very unexpectedly. No one blames you for having trouble making these decisions. You're doing a lot better with it than I would be." Gus hadn't been surprised to discover that Henry had made the vast majority of his own funeral arrangements. It was exactly the sort of thing that he had grown to expect from the no-nonsense former cop, and for Shawn's sake he was thankful for the foresight.

"I just want this to be over, Gus. I hate it. I hate everything about this whole process." He looked at his best friend, eyes shining brightly. "I miss him, Gus."

"I know," Gus said sincerely.

Abruptly, Shawn stood. "I guess I should shower and head over to the funeral home. The sooner I decide on that damn wording, the sooner we can get this over with." He paused. "Will you drop me at the house so I can get my bike?" So far Shawn had managed to avoid returning to his father's house, but knew it was inevitable. He was tired of depending on Gus for transportation, anyway.

"Sure, buddy," Gus said, carefully studying his friend's face. "If you think you're ready."

"Ready as I'll ever be," Shawn replied with a shrug.

* * *

After retrieving his motorcycle and finishing at the funeral home, Shawn found himself driving toward the Psych office. He wasn't sure what he planned on doing there – they didn't have any open cases and it wasn't like he could concentrate anyway – but it felt good just to ride and before long he was parking his Norton outside the front door.

Shawn's cell phone started ringing as soon as he got inside, and he noticed with disgust that it was the funeral home for what seemed like the thousandth time. "Jesus, Malloy," he said out loud. "It's been ten minutes! Enough already! Just make the damn decisions yourself!" He simply couldn't talk to the man again so soon, and tossed the phone on his desk with a huff.

It was the first time that Shawn had been entirely alone since Juliet and Lassiter had shown up at his father's house two days prior. The ensuing 48 hours had been a blur of arrangements, phone calls, condolences and questions, but Gus had been there for all of it. And while Shawn appreciated Gus' presence – more than he'd ever be able to convey – he was beginning to feel smothered. He just needed to be alone for a little while, to have some time to catch his breath, to sort out his feelings. To try and come to terms with his father's untimely death. It had taken quite a bit of fast talking for Shawn to convince his protective best friend that he'd be okay by himself for a couple of hours, but eventually Gus had reluctantly acquiesced.

But now that he _was_ all alone with his thoughts, Shawn missed his buddy's company desperately. _Don't think,_ he told himself sternly. _Thinking is bad. Pineapple is good. Look_ _for pineapple!_ Shawn wandered over to the fridge. _I know I had some in here._ Sure enough, when he opened the refrigerator door there was a plastic container full of sliced pineapple. Shawn smiled as he pulled it out, but the moment of happiness was fleeting. Behind the pineapple rested another container, one that was filled with leftover roast and potatoes. The smile dropped from Shawn's face as he read the handwritten note taped to the plastic dish. 'I expect to get this one back, son. Or else. –Dad'

For some reason, seeing the words written by his father's hand was simply more than Shawn could handle. He hurriedly replaced the pineapple and backed away from the fridge, grabbing for a nearby trash bin in blind desperation. He barely made it before losing the entire contents of his stomach, meager as they were. _God._

At that instant, Shawn's cell started ringing again and he yelled, "Stop calling me, dammit!" The phone continued ringing, and he stumbled over to the desk and picked it up irritably. Without even looking at the display he flung it as hard as he could, feeling only marginally satisfied at the resounding crunch of shattering electronics against the wood floor.

After two long days of fighting to keep it all together, Shawn finally began to break down. "I should have been on time! I'm sorry, Dad!" Shawn bit his lip, fighting desperately to keep the tears at bay. "I'm so sorry. It's my fault. This is all my fault!"

Without thinking Shawn struck out, searching for an outlet to release his pain. Blindly he slammed his right fist into the wall and startled at the resulting crack. He saw the damage to the sheetrock a few seconds before it registered in his hand. "Ow!" Shawn gasped. He staggered into the damaged wall and slid down, clutching his newly injured hand against his body.

Shawn's heart pounded and his breathing came too fast, and it took a huge effort to get it under control again. He leaned his head against the wall with a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. Once he finally stopped fighting, exhaustion claimed him almost immediately and when Shawn opened his eyes again, it was to stare into the face of a very concerned Gus.

"Shawn! What is going on? I've been trying to call…what happened here?" Gus glanced at the wall above Shawn's head, taking in the busted sheetrock with a frown.

"I think I broke my hand," Shawn said pitifully, holding up the injury for Gus to see.

Gus yelped in surprise when he saw the bruised, swollen fingers. "Yeah, I think you did. Come on, let's get you to the ER." He moved to help his friend stand, but stopped at the slowly shaking head he received in response. "What do you mean, no? You need to get that looked at, Shawn."

"I know. But…I just…" Without warning the dam broke, and Shawn couldn't keep silent any longer. He barely managed to hold back the flood of tears as he told Gus everything, finishing with, "Don't you see? It's my fault that Dad died! If I'd been on time for once, I could have saved his life! This is all because of me!"

Gus sighed. He had been waiting on this conversation even as he'd hoped it wouldn't happen. "Shawn, don't. Please don't do this to yourself. Juliet-"

Shawn didn't give his friend the chance to finish. "He was alone, Gus!" Shawn's voice caught, and he choked back a sob as he persisted, "My dad died alone, in his kitchen! He deserved better than that! He was my _father_!"

"There's nothing you could have done," Gus chose his words carefully.

"You don't know that! What if I could have saved him?" Shawn winced as he gestured a little too emphatically with his injured hand.

Gus knelt in front of Shawn and put both hands firmly on his friend's trembling shoulders. "I _do_ know that, Shawn. That's what Juliet was calling to tell you."

Shawn was confused. "What? Jules called?" Both men glanced over at the shattered remains of a cell phone. "Oh," Shawn said meekly.

"Yeah," Gus replied with a sigh. He didn't bother to ask why Shawn's phone was in pieces – he had a pretty good idea. Instead, he continued, "She called me when she couldn't reach you. The autopsy report is back."

"Ohhh," Shawn breathed. He had been dreading the results for two days. _This is the moment of truth. Where I find out for sure that everything really is my fault._ "Well?"

"It's like I was trying to tell you, Shawn." Gus softened his tone as he continued, "There's nothing you could have done. The report puts the time of death at almost three hours before you arrived. Even if you had been on time, it would have been too late." He looked directly into Shawn's reddened eyes and spoke gently, as if to a frightened child. "There's _nothing_ you could have done."

Stunned, Shawn didn't respond right away. Gus watched his friend carefully, trying to gauge his reaction. Finally, Shawn whispered, "But he was alone. He…he died all alone."

"I know," Gus said soothingly, "I know." There was more, but he waited patiently for Shawn to gather himself and ask.

"So…what…" Shawn trailed off. "What happened? Was he in pain?" He was torn. He wanted – he _needed_ – to know, but at the same time dreaded the answers.

Gus smiled sadly. "No pain," he assured his friend. "The coroner said it was a massive heart attack." He looked Shawn square in the eye and said firmly, "He was gone before he hit the floor. Even if you'd been there, it would have happened too fast. There's nothing you could have done to help him, Shawn. He probably didn't even realize what was going on."

Shawn let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "He didn't suffer?"

Gus shook his head emphatically. "No. He didn't. I promise."

 _Gus wouldn't lie to me._ Shawn leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. _Dad didn't suffer. He didn't die scared and alone and wondering where I was, why I wasn't there to help him._ Relief flooded his fatigued body, and the throbbing of his injury began to momentarily outweigh the aching of his heart.

"Come on," Gus said quietly. "We need to get you to a doctor." When Shawn didn't move right away, Gus went and found an ice pack in the freezer. He returned to Shawn's side and gently laid it against his friend's swollen hand.

Shawn's eyes flew open and he gasped. "Ow!"

Gus winced in sympathy. "Sorry. Come on, let's get you up." Nodding weakly, Shawn finally allowed Gus to help him to his feet. Gus kept a steadying hand under his friend's good arm and wrapped the other around his waist. Shawn leaned gratefully into the support and much as they had those few nights before, the two men shuffled slowly toward the waiting blue car.


	4. Chapter 4

Three hours later, they were headed back to Gus' apartment. Shawn dozed, bleary from the prescription painkillers. Gus glanced over at his best friend and sighed. He was really worried. It turned out that the hand wasn't broken – the diagnosis was two dislocated fingers and a cracked knuckle - but either way, such a physically damaging display of frustration wasn't like Shawn at all. It just confirmed what Gus already knew: Shawn wasn't coping with Henry's death as well as he'd like everyone to believe.

Gus pulled up in front of his place and gently shook Shawn's leg. "Hey, Shawn. Wake up. We're here."

Shawn startled. "Dad?" Gus' stomach twisted at the hope in his friend's voice.

"No, Shawn. It's me." Gus watched Shawn as realization dawned. "Sorry," Gus murmured apologetically.

Shawn smiled sadly. "Not your fault, buddy."

"Come on." Gus got out and walked around the car so that he could help his groggy friend to his feet.

For the third time in as many days, Shawn allowed Gus to support the bulk of his weight. Once they finally made it into the apartment Shawn collapsed in a heap on the couch. "Tired," he admitted softly.

"I'm sure," Gus agreed. He knew very well that Shawn hadn't been sleeping, even though his stubborn friend had been trying to hide that fact. "Why don't you take my bed tonight? I feel bad that you've been out here on the couch."

As he had every other time, Shawn shook his head vehemently at the suggestion. "I'm good."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Shawn-"

Before Gus could finish the thought, Shawn winced theatrically and shifted his right arm in the sling. "Do I really have to wear this?" he whined. For the first time in days he sounded almost like the Shawn that Gus had known for 25 years. _Almost._

Happy to play along for the moment, Gus rolled his eyes and replied, "Yes you do, since you decided to use the wall for a punching bag the doctor says you need to keep from using that hand for at least the next few days. And the only way to keep you from using it is to keep it immobilized."

"I'm not a child," Shawn said sulkily.

"Not technically," Gus retorted with a grin.

Shawn pouted, but Gus could see a hint of the old familiar gleam in his eyes. He smiled. "Get some rest, Shawn."

* * *

Cradling his bandaged hand against his chest, Shawn stared upwards, continuing his intensive study of Gus' ceiling. He'd been staring at it for hours already and sighed heavily. _I don't want to get up. I can't face today. I was hoping today wouldn't come._ But it had. _The day we bury my father. God, I don't want to do this._

As if reading his friend's thoughts, Gus suddenly appeared in the doorway, already dressed in a black suit. "Shawn? It'll be time to leave soon."

Shawn's hazel eyes were wide and shone brightly, and it wasn't lost on Gus that although he'd come close, his friend had not actually shed a single tear since his father's death four days before. Gus knew that eventually he would break down, and he only hoped to be there to support Shawn when it finally happened.

"I don't want to," Shawn's voice was hardly audible.

"I know you don't, buddy. Believe me, I know. But we have to. The funeral is in two hours."

Shawn's new phone began to vibrate across the table, and he squeezed his eyes shut in response. "Who is it?"

Gus looked at the display. "Not sure." Warily, he picked it up and hit the call button. "Hello?" After a moment he relaxed. Eyes still closed, Shawn was only semi-listening as Gus spoke again. "Yes ma'am, he's right here."

Shawn began shaking his head vigorously as Gus held the phone toward him. "Shawn!" Gus hissed. "It's your mother!" They had been trying to reach Madeleine for days, but she was traveling overseas and Shawn had yet to speak with her.

Eyes full of emotion, Shawn accepted the phone with his good hand. "Mom?"

"Shawn," confirmed the voice on the other end. "What's going on, baby? Are you okay? I'm sorry, I just now got your message. I've been in Moscow for the last week and there was a bit of a language barrier with the hotel staff."

"It's okay." Shawn simply didn't have the energy to mince words, and so he said softly, "Dad had a heart attack a few days ago. Mom, he…died." He closed his eyes. Every time he said the dreaded words they became a little more real, but certainly no less painful.

There was a shocked silence as Maddie tried to process what she'd just been told. "Oh, no. Oh, Goose. My poor baby, I'm so sorry." Sorrow was apparent as Madeleine asked softly, "How are you holding up?"

"The funeral is today," Shawn whispered, as if it were explanation enough.

"I'm so sorry," his mother said again. "I wish I could be there. I'll book the next flight out, but I won't make it until tomorrow at the earliest."

Shawn managed a watery laugh. "No, Mom, don't worry. It's okay. I'm okay. Gus is here."

"I know he is, baby, but I should be there too." Maddie sighed, frustration and grief apparent even over thousands of miles.

"Don't worry, Mom." Shawn forced a note of stubborn resolve into his voice. "I'm-" He stopped. "I'll be fine." As much as he wanted to see his mother, he wasn't sure he wanted to deal with long-unresolved issues at a time when he was already feeling vulnerable.

"I'll get there as soon as I can, okay? A few days, at most." She paused. "I love you so much, Goose."

"I love you too, Mom. Take care." Shawn hung up and stared at the phone in his hand. Slowly he looked up at Gus, who was patiently standing nearby. "She's in Moscow," he said numbly.

Gus wasn't surprised that Madeleine wouldn't make it to the funeral. He had already counted on being Shawn's primary source of support. "I'll be there," he reminded his friend.

"I know, buddy. And I'm glad." Shawn stood and fumbled with his sling. Gus helped him ease his arm out. "I'm not wearing that," Shawn said flatly.

"Okay," Gus nodded. On this day, of all days, he wasn't going to argue. "Whatever you want."

An hour later, Shawn was showered and dressed and both men sat in the car outside the chapel. "You ready?" Gus studied Shawn's weary face carefully.

Shawn shrugged. He'd refused to let Gus re-wrap his injured hand and although the swelling had gone down, deep purple contusions stood out in vivid contrast to pale skin. He looked exhausted, and the dark circles under his bloodshot eyes rivaled the bruising on his knuckles. "Does it matter?" Without waiting for an answer, Shawn awkwardly reached across his body to open the door with his left hand. "Let's get this over with."


	5. Chapter 5

Shawn only vaguely paid attention during the beginning of the service. He was overwhelmed by the whirlwind of greetings and condolences he'd had to endure beforehand. He was also severely regretting his refusal to let Gus re-bandage his fingers – people kept reaching to shake hands and rather than try and explain, Shawn kept accepting. As a result, his hand was throbbing badly and driving him to distraction.

Cradling the injury in his lap, Shawn tried to block out the pain and focus. One of his father's old partners was speaking, talking at great length about what a great cop Henry had been. Breathing carefully through his nose, Shawn closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he felt someone watching and turned to face Gus, who stared at him worriedly. Shawn attempted a smile, but knew it was pathetic.

Shawn continued fading in and out, trying to pay attention but having difficulty following. Chief Vick spoke next, taking a few minutes to talk about how many years she and Henry Spencer had known each other and how she was truly going to miss his friendship. Shawn tuned in just in time to hear the chief say how much she had always relied on Henry's calm advice, his unwavering counsel. _You're not the only one,_ Shawn thought miserably.

Then it was his turn. Shawn knew that every eye was on him as he stood and took his place at the front of the small chapel. He glanced at Gus, and at the calm, reassuring nod Shawn managed a deep breath.

"Thank you all for coming today. It means a lot to me that you care." Shawn paused, smiling slightly as his practiced eyes skimmed over the crowd. There were a lot of people packed into the small space. _No hats though,_ he observed absently as he began. "It's no secret that my dad and I didn't always get along."

There were a few sad, knowing smiles from the crowd, and Shawn continued, "We had our differences and disagreements over the years. Growing up, my mom was gone a lot, so most of the time it was just the two of us."

Shawn's voice grew softer. "It couldn't have been easy for him. I didn't _make_ it easy for him. But he was always there. He may not have been like the other kids' dads, but he um...he took care of me the best way he knew how." Shawn paused again, swallowing hard over the lump in his throat. _You haven't broken yet. Now is not the time._

"And as hard as our relationship was, as much as we fought, I really only have one regret. And that's how I didn't get the chance to tell him. To thank him. To let him know that everything I am today, the person I've become, is because of him." Shawn chuckled. "Or in spite of him."

He turned toward his father's closed casket and said simply, "Thank you, Dad. For everything." He paused and took a deep breath. "I'll miss you more than words can say."

Shawn's eulogy was simple, but his were the only dry eyes in the chapel when he finished speaking and returned to his seat. Though he tried to hide it, even Lassiter sniffled a little, gratefully squeezing Juliet's hand when she placed it gently on top of his.

Through his own tears Gus watched his best friend return to his side, and clasped Shawn's shoulder. "Good job, buddy," he whispered. "He would be proud."

 _Right._ Shawn nodded stiffly and rubbed his eyes, trying to halt the threatening flood. _Don't_ , he warned himself. _If you start crying you won't be able to stop._

Gus could see the inner battle Shawn was waging. "You're going to have to let go eventually," he whispered softly. At the stony silence he received in reply, Gus sighed and returned his attention to the front of the chapel.

* * *

Shawn stood at his father's graveside stoically, as if frozen in place. Gus had been keeping a careful eye on his friend during the short ride to the cemetery. It had begun to drizzle, and the large group of mourners from the chapel had dwindled. Besides Shawn and Gus, only Chief Vick and a handful of Henry's old cop buddies remained.

Juliet and Lassiter had been called back to the station immediately after the service, and as they left Shawn had accepted their sincere condolences distractedly. Gus was troubled by the vacant look in his friend's eyes. Juliet had clearly noticed it too, and easily conveyed her thoughts to Gus with a worried frown. Gus had attempted a reassuring smile, but in truth he was just as concerned.

Once the two detectives took their leave, Gus bundled his silently obedient friend into the car. The funeral procession had been short and the cemetery was close.

The priest said a few words, and then it was time.

Shawn stared, seemingly in a daze, as his father's casket began its slow descent into the ground. Gus watched solemnly, eyes skimming over the temporary grave marker arranged when Shawn still hadn't settled on a headstone. He placed a gentle hand on Shawn's shoulder, and was surprised to find it trembling ever so slightly. Slowly, painfully, Shawn turned glistening eyes to meet his buddy's.

"He's gone," Shawn's voice was that of a man who had just made an important realization. _It's all real. He's really not coming back._ "That's it. Gus, he's _gone_ ," Shawn repeated.

"I know. I know, and I'm so sorry, Shawn." Gus didn't know what else to say. He suspected that Shawn was nearing his breaking point.

"Gone," Shawn whispered again. Henry's casket had reached its final resting place, and the few remaining mourners were quietly dispersing. Only Chief Vick remained, and she looked to Gus for guidance.

At the young man's helpless shrug, Karen stepped forward and gently brushed her hand against Shawn's arm. Startled by the contact, he gasped. It turned into an odd strangled sound, which Karen recognized as an attempt to suppress a sob. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Spen- I mean, Shawn." At the distraught look on Shawn's face, for once she bypassed her usual formality and referred to her psychic consultant by his given name. With a final pat to his shoulder Vick murmured her condolences with a sad smile before quietly walking away.

With everyone else finally gone, Gus resumed his position by his best friend. He absolutely refused to push, especially given Shawn's obvious fragility. They stood side-by-side, unmoving, staring solemnly into Henry's fresh grave.

As they stood, the faint drizzle slowly increased until it was raining heavily. Gus shivered against the accompanying chill. "Come on, buddy. You're going to get sick. Let's go." He tugged halfheartedly at Shawn's sleeve and was unsurprised by the lack of response. He watched Shawn carefully, trying to decide if only rain streamed in rivulets down the pale cheeks, or if his friend had given into the grief. He eventually decided that it was simply rain and sure enough, Shawn's voice was soft but completely steady when he finally spoke.

"What am I going to do, Gus?" He continued to stare blankly at his father's exposed coffin.

Gus sighed. "You're going to do what you've always done. You're going to be a detective. You're going to pretend to be psychic and flirt with Juliet and drive Lassiter crazy making obscure references to eighties movies."

Shawn shook his head. "How? How can I just go back to doing all those things, Gus?"

"What choice do you have?" It was less a question than a gentle admonition. "You'll learn to cope, Shawn. Life will go on." Even as he said the words, they sounded harsh to his own ears.

Shawn looked up sharply. For the first time since Henry's death, Gus could see an emotion other than grief in the bloodshot hazel eyes. "What do you know?!" Shawn snapped angrily. "Your dad is still alive!"

Gus looked his friend square in the face. "Yes. But _your_ father was an important part of my life, Shawn. I spent more time at your house than my own when we were growing up. I've had dinner with you and your dad more in the last month than I have with my family in the last year. I'm not going to pretend I know what you're going through, but don't you think I miss him too?"

Shawn nodded; his momentary burst of fury gone. The vehemence in his tone was once again replaced by sorrow as he replied. "I'm sorry, buddy. You're right. I just…it's weird to think he won't be there, you know?"

"I know," Gus agreed softly.

"I never thought about it. Dad was just always _there._ I guess I assumed he always would be." Shawn managed a smile as he dragged in a shuddering breath. "I figured he'd always be a pain in my ass. As many times as I left and came back, it may have taken a while for me to go see him, but he was always there to see."

It was Gus' turn to nod, but he didn't say anything. He simply waited for Shawn to continue.

Anger once again laced Shawn's words but this time it wasn't directed at Gus. "It wasn't supposed to happen this way! All those years he was a cop, and Mom and I worried about getting that phone call. All those nights she lost sleep when he was working a particularly dangerous case. She used to jump every time the phone rang or someone knocked at the door, terrified that something had happened. He came home all those times!"

Shawn's eyes again welled up with tears and he blinked them back in frustration. "He always came home! He survived an entire freaking career as a cop, Gus! Then he just...dies of a heart attack in his kitchen? It's not fair!" Shawn rubbed his eyes fiercely. "It's not fair," he repeated, though all traces of irritation had suddenly disappeared. He still felt guilty that his father had died alone, even through all the assurances that nothing would have changed. "I feel like I should have known…should have…sensed something."

"Shawn. You aren't really psychic," Gus observed matter-of-factly.

"I know, I just…" Shawn trailed off, unsure of what he had intended to say. He opted for changing the subject. "What am I going to do with his house?"

"It's your house now," Gus reminded his friend. Henry's will had unequivocally left all of his assets to his only child.

Shawn paused for a beat. "Wow," he murmured. "I guess so. I don't know what to do with that. I don't think I could ever live there."

Gus refrained from pointing out that his friend had, in fact, spent many years living in that very house. He knew what Shawn meant.

Suddenly Gus noticed that they were still standing in what had become a driving rain. He regarded his buddy solemnly. "Where do you want to go?"

Shawn sighed and rubbed his face wearily. _This just all seems so surreal. I know he's gone, I really do, but I still can't help but feel like he's going to be there when I walk in the door._ He opened his eyes, decision made. "The house."

The response was so soft that at first Gus thought he'd misheard. "The house," he repeated, baffled. That wasn't what he'd expected.

"Yeah," Shawn said carefully. He sounded stronger, more certain, as he repeated the answer again. "Yeah. The house."

"You got it, buddy," Gus replied slowly.


	6. Chapter 6

They drove in silence. The trip was short, and Shawn focused on the rhythmic swishing of the windshield wipers. Anything to take his mind off what he was about to do.

Shawn hardly noticed when Gus parked the car in front of the familiar red and white building. His friend didn't say anything; he simply shut off the ignition and sat quietly. Shawn appreciated the patience and made a mental note to thank Gus later. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He couldn't focus on anything else and didn't try. Gus sat in silence and watched his friend, his own heart breaking with Shawn's obvious pain. Fifteen long minutes later, Shawn swallowed hard.

"I'm ready. I can do this."

Gus frowned. "Are you sure? Take as much time as you need."

Shawn shook his head and took a deep breath. "Now or never, buddy." He reached for the door handle and grunted as his injured hand reminded him of its presence. "Ow," Shawn grumbled crossly as he used his left hand instead, pointedly ignoring Gus' lifted eyebrows.

Unsure of how much space to give, Gus kept a respectful distance as Shawn fumbled with his keys. After a moment, Shawn managed to unlock the front door and with another deep breath, he pushed it open and stepped inside.

The house was spotless, and Shawn immediately noticed that Juliet and Lassiter – _well, probably just Jules_ – had taken the time to clean up the kitchen. He closed his eyes as the memories surfaced, unbidden and unwanted. _Dad was in the middle of prepping dinner…he must have been carrying the plate of steaks when he…when he…_

Shawn found he couldn't even finish the thought. He bit his lip and looked at Gus.

"You don't have to do this right now, Shawn," Gus reminded him gently.

"Yes, I do." Shawn's voice was soft, but Gus recognized the determination. "I…um. Hm." Shawn foundered a little, trying to collect his thoughts. "Lunch, buddy. We haven't eaten. Why don't you go get us some jerk chicken?"

Gus frowned. "The last time I left you alone, you ended up with busted fingers," he reminded his friend warily.

Shawn rubbed his good hand down his face in a motion that was eerily reminiscent of Henry Spencer, Gus noted inwardly. Before Shawn could reply, Gus held up his own hands in surrender. He hesitated to leave his friend alone but understood. "Never mind." He squeezed Shawn's shoulder. "I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Suddenly Shawn found that he couldn't speak. "Thanks," he mouthed soundlessly.

Gus smiled tiredly, and with one final pat to Shawn's shoulder, he turned and quietly walked away.

Once alone, Shawn sighed heavily. _Why am I here?_ He wandered aimlessly through the house for a few minutes. It felt big and cold and hopelessly, heartbreakingly empty.

Without realizing it, Shawn wandered until he was in his father's bedroom. Slowly his mind caught up with his body, and he sank down on the bed with a heavy sigh. _I miss you, Dad._

It was then that Shawn heard a familiar voice. He knew it was inside his own mind, no more real than dialogue in a movie, but he listened all the same. _Suck it up, kid. I'm dead, you're not. Life goes on._

Shawn chuckled, but felt hot tears prick at his eyes. Tears that he had been fighting for days. _Dammit. No._ Abruptly he stood, unwilling to give into the despair. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands against them, disregarding the flare of pain from his injury.

Sniffling hard, he managed to forestall the tears and just stared blankly out the window for a long while, mindlessly watching waves crash against the shoreline.

 _I guess this is mine now. All of it. That's a weird thought._ Shawn turned, and suddenly noticed that the drawer to the bedside table was slightly ajar. _I wondered what Dad kept in here…he always said this room was off-limits, that I had my own and shouldn't need to come in his…_ even when he lived at home, Shawn had always given his father's room a wide berth. He'd been curious, of course, but not so much to risk Henry's anger over something so seemingly inconsequential. _Whether Dad realized it or not, I didn't actually enjoy pissing him off. I tried to save his fury for the important things, like the time that Gus and I wanted to try base jumping off the roof._

Curiosity piqued, Shawn sat on the bed once more and pulled the drawer open. His heart seized in his chest as he saw an envelope with a single word written across it in his father's deliberate, even script.

 _Shawn_. It was addressed to him.

Funny how something so simple could make Shawn's emotions spiral nearly out of control. He bit his lip and took a deep breath. _What is this?_ Shawn hesitated as he reached for the envelope. It was ordinary, not large or even particularly thick. Just a regular envelope.

Shawn tried to ignore the trembling in his fingers as he ripped it open to reveal a letter.

 _Kid:_

 _If you're reading this, I'd better be dead. At least I can't think of another reason you'd be snooping around in my bedroom. Not if you know what's good for you, anyway._

 _So I guess that's it. I'm gone. And have to I figure that I never actually told you what I always intended. I was never much good at being that kind of father, the one who lavishes affection and praise. I guess I should have tried harder. Maybe it wouldn't have mattered. Maybe our relationship would have been exactly the same, but I should have tried. For your sake._

 _You're a great kid, Shawn. The best kid. I never gave you enough credit for anything. You may be the single biggest pain in the ass I've ever encountered in my life, but you're also the smartest. You get that from your mother, no doubt, along with that remarkable memory. Wish I could take credit, but you sure didn't get it from me. You're really something else, kiddo._

 _I'm sorry, by the way. Sorry that I never told you what you always deserved to hear. So here it is, better late than never I suppose._

 _At least I hope it isn't too late. For you, that is. Because if you're reading this then my time is already up._

 _I love you, Shawn. I love you so much. From the moment I first saw you - screaming your fool head off in the doctor's hands - I adored you more than ever seemed possible. And I'm proud of you. Do you understand that? I am_ _so proud_ _of you. Always have been, always will be. Never doubt that._

 _Suck it up, pal. I may be dead, but you sure as hell aren't. Life goes on. Make it count._

 _Dad_

Shawn finished reading and blinked as tears flowed down pale cheeks. Stunned and heartbroken, he was completely powerless to stop them. He was still sitting on the edge of Henry's bed, holding the letter and weeping openly whenever Gus returned.

"Shawn? Are you okay?" Gus fretted, gingerly taking a seat next to his friend.

After a long moment, Shawn raised bloodshot hazel eyes to meet concerned brown ones. "He loved me, Gus. Dad loved me."

Puzzled, Gus replied quietly, "Of course he did, Shawn. He was your father." Despite their complicated relationship, Gus never doubted the elder Spencer's love for his only child.

He'd also never realized that maybe Shawn had.

"No, you don't understand," Shawn shook his head slowly, as if making a realization for the very first time. "Everything I've ever done, all the times we fought...it didn't matter. He was still proud of me. See?" Shawn waved the letter around, tears streaming down his face. "He loved me. I never…" he broke off with a sob. "Gus, he was _proud of me._ "

Torn between wanting to stay with his broken friend and knowing that Shawn needed some time to process what he'd apparently just realized, Gus made a decision. "I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he said softly. He patted Shawn's thigh as he stood and crossed the room, sparing one last look at his grieving buddy before silently closing the door behind him.

Tears continued streaming down the psychic's face and he barely noticed his friend's departure. Shawn lay down on his father's bed, curling onto one side and crying like he never had in his life.

He wept until the tears ran dry then slowly drifted into an exhausted sleep. Almost thirty minutes later, a worried Gus quietly pushed the door open. "Shawn?" At the lack of response, he peeked in and sighed in relief at the sight. Shawn was curled up on what had been Henry's side of the bed, sound asleep, with a piece of paper clutched in his left hand.

"Get some rest, Shawn," Gus murmured. He pulled a nearby afghan over his buddy's still frame. Shawn stirred a little and sighed, relaxing further into the pillow even as his grip on the letter tightened.

Gus smiled sadly and turned to leave, planning to watch television in the den until Shawn awakened. As he headed for the door, he heard a quiet voice. The words were groggy and slurred by sleep, but unmistakable in their sorrow.

"Goodbye, Dad. I love you too."

Gus didn't even try to stop the tears that flowed down his own cheeks as he closed the door.


	7. Chapter 7

_I took a few liberties both with the usual burial process and also Henry's year of birth (mostly because I'm not sure the show ever established his age). Hope you'll forgive any factual inaccuracies for the sake of the story. Thank you for reading! -abby_

* * *

Gus jolted awake to the sounds of someone clattering around in the kitchen. He bolted upright, vaguely recalling that he'd fallen asleep on the couch after checking in on Shawn around midnight.

"Shawn?" Gus rose and padded into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes.

His friend was standing at the stove, humming as he poured pancake batter onto a griddle. "Hey, buddy! Hope I didn't wake you." The smile Shawn tossed over his shoulder seemed sincere enough, and his face had more color than it had for a week. He was still favoring his right hand, which had been carefully rebandaged, but didn't seem to be in too much pain.

"You look better," Gus observed cautiously.

Shawn shut off the burner and turned to face Gus. "I decided what Dad's headstone should say," he replied simply. "After breakfast, can you drive me over to talk with Malloy?"

"Of course. You want to talk about it?"

"Not now," Shawn shook his head, but didn't look upset. "But I will. Right now I just want to eat some delicious pancakes. Will you grab the maple syrup from the fridge?"

"You got it." Gus located the syrup and pulled it out, along with a carton of milk and a container of fresh pineapple. He sat down at the table across from Shawn and the best friends ate in companionable silence, just like they had a thousand times before.

In the comfortable, familiar surroundings, if Shawn tried hard enough he could almost imagine that the last several days hadn't happened. That everything was normal and Henry was still alive. But for the first time since his father's death, Shawn wasn't sure he needed to. For the first time in days, he felt something other than overwhelming despair.

It felt almost like peace.

* * *

Three days later, two men stood shoulder-to-shoulder in the cemetery. They watched silently as a team of workmen carefully arranged a large stone at the head of a still-fresh grave. The sky was clear and blue, and birds chirped serenely overhead. It was a far cry from the day Henry had been laid to rest, and the difference didn't escape Shawn's notice.

It seemed to parallel his emotional state.

Ever since finding his father's final message, Shawn had felt a sort of serenity. He'd wanted to explain it, to tell Gus how he'd turned the corner into acceptance, but had a hard time - not for lack of trying, but because he could hardly even think about it without choking up. Finally he'd simply handed his buddy the letter and stood by awkwardly as Gus read Henry's uncharacteristically touching words. After a moment, tear-filled dark eyes met his own before Gus had pulled him into a tight hug.

They hadn't spoken of it since, but Shawn felt like a massive weight had lifted from his chest. After reading his father's letter and crying himself into an exhausted sleep, Shawn had awoken the next morning feeling calm and as though the world made sense again. Most of all, through no effort of his own, he'd achieved a sense of closure. _Thanks for that, Dad._

He also - finally - had clarity about the previously-elusive wording that belonged on the gravestone.

It was those words that he and Gus were waiting to see at that very moment. The workers finished the installation and stepped aside reverently to reveal the shiny granite, precisely positioned at his father's final resting place.

 ** _HENRY WILLIAM SPENCER, JR.  
_ _1954-2008  
_ _I MAY BE DEAD, BUT YOU AREN'T._**

"I sincerely doubt that this is what your father had in mind," Gus observed, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle.

With tears shining in his hazel eyes, Shawn began to laugh. It was a gentle but heartfelt sound that came from deep within. A sound that released the last of the pressure in Gus' own aching chest, and he smiled as his friend kept laughing.

After a moment Shawn sobered and replied softly, "I'm sure it isn't, buddy. But somehow, I think he understands."


End file.
